Mottled Grey
by courtesan15
Summary: Mottled Grey... In the Locust-Human war, not everyhting is so black or white. Some strong language.
1. To please, to will, to survive

Mottled Grey... Not everything in the Locust-Human war is so black or white. Rated Mature.

The Nexus' kitchens smelt of putrid flesh of rotting riftworms that the Butchers had deserted to tend to the heat of the stoves. Scorm, a Theron Guard winced as his boot skidded over a patch of wet grime on the tiles. Skorge, the Locust equivalent to the Pope snapped him a malicious look. Together they marched in silence through the humid cellar that was the royal kitchen. Scorm was to be promoted to bodyguard of the Queen, a prestigious job indeed. All the Locust wanted to be nearer the Queen out of patriotism, or pure fanaticism. Several Butchers thudded into the archway entering the kitchens, when they saw Skorge they instantly bowed. All the Locust Priest did was hiss and raise a hand lazily blessing the kitchens by drawing a symbol with his hand. The Butchers parted to make way for him and Scorm as they passed. Once out of the kitchens they two took an elevator ride straight down to the Nexus Hall. Fifty Theron Guards lined the way to a large wooden door as Skorge passed they instinctively bowed, however once he had passed they snarled and glared at Scorm. Amongst his brothers who were guards, Scorm was seen as the most unworthy of a promotion to the Queen's entourage. The large wooden doors creaked open revealing a torch lit path leading towards a throne at the back end of an even larger hall than the one the two just left. On this throne sat the Queen. Haunting beautiful compared the lumpy barbaric beasts she commanded the Locust Queen looked like a human but with a grey skin complexion and a flowing gown. She nodded once to Skorge from afar, and his pace quickened. Scorm did his best to keep up with his leader while trying not to get anymore sweaty by jogging. After nearly ten seconds of fast-walking, the pair reached the Queen. Now it was their turn to bow. Mid way through the bow, Skorge slapped Scorm's stomach with the back of his hand and hissed. Scorm realized his mistake and bowed lower. Bowing low in front of the Queen was a symbol of how high they rated their Queen; it was polite to honor this age old tradition.

"You may stand." The Queen said, her harsh cold voice cutting through the silence. There was no echo in the room, but the emptiness made her voice louder than she probably intended. Scorm spine shivered as he stood up. Skorge stood at once and moved off to the side letting the Queen inspect her new bodyguard.

"My last guard died on voyage to the surface commanding a legion of like-minded and equally devoted individuals such as yourself," The Queen gestured to Scorm, her voice much less colder, but still emotionless, "He was much stronger, taller, and more capable then you I imagine. But, only time will tell. As of now the horde acknowledges your new position by my side, but I do not."

At this moment the Queen jumped up from her throne and trotted down the small steps to circle around Scorm. Scorm stood still, petrified of whether he should follow her with her eyes, straighten up more, look forward or wipe the beads of sweat from his brow.

The Queen gingerly stroked the left shoulder pad of Scorm's maroon ceremonial armor.

"If I am to entrust my life in you, I ask that you lead your brothers in a campaign against the humans. Word has reached us that they plan to hit us at the place they call Landown. Their flying machines will be transporting ammunition, explosives… and support. Get a Reaver, find your team and hit them hard." There was a five second interval where the Queen glared at Scorm, "Actually, Skorge… He shall use your Hydra."

Skorge who had remained in the shadows of the throne room hissed angrily, the Queen did not look at him but waved a hand to silence him.

"If he can master such a rogue creature, he will be more promising than his predecessor. Now go."

After the briefest of all flying lessons, a reluctant Skorge taught Scorm to ride the Hydra. The beast was enormous; easily five times the size of even the strongest Reaver, four massive arms, and a mounted Troika on a large helmet which covered its head only leaving its mouth visible. Scorm was then introduced to his squad of beast riders each with a drone for company and a Reaver per pair. Skorge was quick to leave, it was clear he was angry at Scorm, perhaps out of reluctance of him getting a promotion, or him getting to ride his personal pet. It was soon after, twelve Reavers jumped into the air and followed Scorm as he rode the Hydra through the catacombs of Nexus out into the sky above the surface, and they were now in human territory.

It would be a three hour ride to Landown, the winter weather was unpleasant to say the least. The Reavers could have been safe flying below cloud level, but because of the Hydra's size, Scorm found it best to fly through the clouds to minimize visibility. Finally below the white wisps of vapor the riders caught a glimpse of the human machines, King Ravens they were called. They numbered seven helicopters flying in a 'V' formation towards the snow-capped mountains. Scorm signaled for his squad to fly in closer, however they remained hesitant and kept a distance in case they made the Hydra uncomfortable. It was a vicious creature unable to tell friend or foe.

"ATTACK!" Scorm bellowed pointing down. At once all twelve Reavers dropped like stones, although still controlled by their riders. In the minutes that ensued Scorm would face the battle for his life.

Private Pete O'Crem was no stranger to dealing with the Locusts. He'd spent the past month in a bottleneck scenario between two Locust armies in Lanmouth a small village a few miles from Landown with the men riding the KRs. They had a mission to evacuate all civilians from the village and get them to Jacinto. They had failed, all the civilians were killed in the gunfire from Locust. Hell, they even spent a week trying to take down a Corpser that kept cropping up every night. Finally they found a gap in the Locusts onslaught and called in the KRs to pick them, the ammunitions, and supplies from Lanmouth. They were then told they would be assigned to the Landown operation. Best said, none of the COG soldiers were pleased. O'Crem looked out of the side of his KR, Roger-Five-Ten, to his side were body bags containing the bodies, limbs, carcasses of the civilians for burial detail if and when they get to Jacinto. He was lucky in that despite him and his pilot who went by the same callsign as the vehicle there was no one else to disturb him from reflecting on recent events. The lack of distraction may have been the reason he was quick to react when he saw neighboring KR Roger-eight-twenty-two spiral past him ablaze in orange flames.

"Pilot! We're under attack!" O'Crem bellowed, the pilot had already banked a hard right just as hail of bullets glided past, followed by a Reaver. As the helicopter turned half a circle, Private O'Crem looked out the other side of the aircraft to see the full aerial battle. COG soldiers and KR's fired rounds at the Reavers while the latter flew past firing mortars taking out the troop bays or propellers sending the vehicles into an irreversible spiral. At this point, a second Reaver came into view. It charged the Roger-Five-Ten, sticking its ugly head into O'Crem's compartment. Instinctively the soldier reached for his bolo grenade, took one leap to the beast, tagged the explosives in its mouth and kicked the Reaver's head away from the KR. Within two seconds the Reaver had turned to flee, the Beast Rider try to steer around, and the Drone mindlessly dive off before all three were torn into bloody pieces by the grenade detonating.

"Damn good defending their Private!" The Pilot cooed, "Try not to arm explosives on my bird, just 'case you miss kicking it off."

Private O'Crem reached for his Lancer Rifle and aimed at a passing Reaver that had just ambushed another KR, grabbed one of the soldiers and tossed him out. His screams could be heard over the crossfire and noise of the helicopter and Reavers. After a minute all the Reavers were dead, save one which fled. However only two KRs remained. Just when all seemed quiet…

"SHIT!" O'Crem's pilot shouted.

A monstrous beast, more terrifying than any Reaver the Private ever saw flew into Roger-Five-Ten. The cockpit window shattered, glass impaling the pilot. By the time O'Crem reached him, the pilot had glass shards in his eye, mouth, neck and upper chest, blood was everywhere. O'Crem leant over the dead pilot and took the controls of the KR. He had only memories of watching pilots fly as experience, which served him well as he steered the KR out of free fall. However he now found himself in a thick mist. There was a loud bang and a shudder as metal from the other remaining KR collided on the side of O'Crem's. The bastard must have flown past him and got to them he thought. It occurred to him all his comrades had died but O'Crem did not have time to lament as a large tentacle-like arm wrapped round the damaged cockpit of Roger-Five-Ten. The Hydra, had caught up with him, grappled the aircraft and dragged it through the air releasing it once the aircraft had been turned upside down. O'Crem looked in horror as he saw boulders break through the fog. The KR skidded into the rocks; snow filled the wreckage as it burrowed through the foothills of a mountain, hit a large rock, flipped once, and landed upright. By some miracle the KR didn't explode, but it was rendered useless.

Private O'Crem crawled out of the cockpit window, his rifle first as he slid down the ruins of the aircraft onto the snow. His light blue standard COG armor was blooded and dented as ferociously in the past minutes then it had been in the past month. The sound of the Hydra's growl screamed overhead, above the fog as it flew away. However another sound of thudding footprints was heard. O'Crem looked up to see a heavily armored Locust Theron Guard wielding an identical Lancer strolling towards him. Despite the idyllic setting of snow settled on grass, cold but not windy weather, the sight of this humanoid demon walking towards him, while he himself was helpless as the scariest sight O'Crem would ever see. He grunted pushed himself from the ground, stumbles towards the calm-looking Locust and revved the chainsaw bayonet under his Lancer. The Theron Guard did the same. The weapons clashed. Sparks rained down on both warriors as they held their weapons in a struggle between an offensive and defensive stand. Not once did either opponent take their eyes off the other persons. The unbearable grating sound of the metal bayonets grinding echoed throughout the snowy valley. O'Crem was getting weaker as the duel between the Lancers wavered ever closer to his face. The Theron Guard smirked, as if he was putting minimal effort into the fight.

Scorm had this clinched. The weak human would soon collapse under his own weapon from force, there he would be sawed into bloody heaps on guts, bones, organs and rags. All of a sudden a fury of sparks hurled into Scorm's black eyes. He recoiled as he couldn't see. There the human forced his weapon down onto Scorm's tiring arm, his own Lancer saving himself from the jagged spinning chainsaw. Scorm swung a wild punch, hitting the COG soldier in the chest plate when it was aimed for the head. The soldier spun round, exiting the chainsaw duel before recomposing himself and raising his weapon yet again as Scorm leapt forward for a surprise attack. The bayonet duel commenced again. At once, both Scorm and the human leaned their weapons to the side away from their bodies. There the human kicked Scorm in the chin. He grunted in pain, his jaw dislocated. Scorm quickly stomped on the butt of the human's weapon unintentionally disarming himself aswell as the COG soldier in the process. Now both unarmed the two swung punches and kicks at one another in a desperate attempt to knock the other out before they had a chance to knock them out. Scorm had an opportunity. As he side stepped the human's punch, Scorm clasped his hands on the human's skull. He raised the bastard up, applying pressure as he did so. His enemy screamed and writhed in pain. Scorm's hands shook as they struggled the crack the man's skull, blood already trickled down his palms frothing out of the human's ears. Then, the sound of revving started again. Scorm looked round. Out of the mist Skorge appeared, blue cape flailing and spinning his dual chainsaw staff. Scorm was met with a look of anger and new the Skorge was not running at him to help kill the COG soldier. Scorm threw the human away, rolled to his right and picked up one of the two Lancers. With Skorge definitely targeting him, Scorm threw himself at his new opponent.

Private O'Crem was, as his boot camp trainer said, 'Confused as fuck' about the two Locust having their own chainsaw duel. The pain in his head kept on refusing him the will to stand back up. He managed to reach the lone weapon left on the snow and rise to a kneeling position. He glanced up at the two Locusts to see that the newcomer had kicked the other away and was staring at him. O'Crem didn't know any Locust speak, but he knew that look translated as 'You're next'. O'Crem had fought hard this far, spent a month in hell and was not prepared to die at the hands of some dreadlock-haired fool with a flashy staff. He revved his bayonet once again, black smoke billowing out of the weapon as he joined the fray again. This was now a three-way fight.


	2. Desperacy

The fight raged for quarter of an hour. Snow had begun to fall and the cold temperature beginning to settle. Both Private O'Crem and the Theron Guard were tired, however Skorge seemed to run off limitless amounts of energy. He would surprise O'Crem by focusing on the other Locust before swiping his chainsaw staff in his direction. Throughout the fight between the three combatants, the Theron Guard and O'Crem left each other alone, both in the thought that this new Locust was the bigger threat to them both. Eventually Skorge had an opening. He lashed his staff at Scorm until the latter dropped his Lancer. Scorm slipped on some soft snow, if he hadn't Skorge's chainsaw staff would have severed his head from his shoulders. However Skorge did manage to slice the throat of his opponent, and ended his move to face O'Crem. The COG soldier knew he was in trouble, wishing he had of fled while he had the chance. He glanced at his original opponent on the ground clutching its throat as fresh blood swept over its already dried bloody hands. Skorge hissed, his fork-like tongue lapping in the air to fuel his monstrous hiss. He raised his staff for the killing strike.

The familiar sound of the Hydra's scream resounded above them. Skorge, with his staff raised high stopped to look up. O'Crem closed his eyes, praying that being sawed in half was not as painful as it had looked. After ten seconds of waiting, he opened his eyes to see Skorge gone. All around him was white. White skies, white snow, white fog. O'Crem spun round expecting his opponent to reappear and finish him off. He didn't show. O'Crem jogged towards the direction he last saw the previous Locust and found him on the floor. Scorm's eyes darted around trying to keep busy lest they fall still and he died there. O'Crem discarded his Lancer now confident he wouldn't need it in the case the wounded Theron Guard made an aggressive move. Scorm, now noticing the COG growled angrily, blood bubbled from his throat.

"Nu-uh man, you're not dying yet." O'Crem said finding some strength left to punch the Locust square in the face, knocking it out. Finally, after a dozen deep breaths and enjoying the silence, O'Crem radioed Control.

"Control, this is Private Pete O'Crem from the Lanmouth assault team. All KRs are down, all of the squad is dead, and it's just me. I need extraction."

A grizzled old male voice responded from O'Crem's earpiece.

"Private, I have an op going pear-shaped in Landown, limited resources and men, and you want a pick-up? What the hell happened to your squad?"

"Reavers, and a creature I've never seen before, much bigger than a Reaver. Downed all the King Ravens. I spent twenty minutes fighting solo against two Locust big-shots… One's still alive but unconscious. The Locust were fighting each other, like some civil-war…"

"Oh. Wow. I'm sorry. Here, let me get away from my not-busy desk, call my own not-busy pilot to get your BUSY butt back here for medals, Champaign and cheese on a fucking stick!" The male voice interrupted, his tone full with sarcasm, "Son are you out of you're…" the voice was cut off, some whispering was audible, "You got lucky son, KR Tango-One-Thirteen just volunteered to pick you up. Looks like it's first-class to Jacinto. As soon as you touch down report to me, Colonel…"

_Shit_, O'Crem thought.

"…Hoffman at control. Expect to be court marshaled if you have anything less than miraculous Intel to share. Hell, I'll get them to tie you to the floor in the Hollow, and send a Grindlift straight down on top of you to mess your innards good. Hoffman out."

O'Crem dwelled on the thought of a Grindlift burrowing down from the ceiling of the Hollow through his chest and wondered if he'd shit his pants before he was crushed. He then scavenged a body bag from his down KR, emptied its contents, hefted the unconscious Scorm into the bag, then moved towards an LZ he vividly remembered on his flight to Lanmouth dragging the Locust behind him.

"There we go, Ugly's all patched up." The squad's medic, Rendell, said as he finished stitching a bolt linen bandage onto the Theron Guard's throat. "That should hold till Ilima."

On the opposite side of the troop bay O'Crem looked puzzled.

"I thought we were on our way to Jacinto."

Tango-One-Thirteen had been in the air for nearing an hour; O'Crem had been very grateful for the lift and took it in turns to thank all the members onboard. Besides the medic Rendell (who was dressed more like a civilian than as COG in his leather jacket and combat trousers), there was Sergeant Giggs, Private Prescott, the pilot know as 'Air Time', and the squad's marksman Private Smith. Despite the teams' pleasantries and the welcoming attitude, O'Crem was in no mood for a change of plan.

"Through this weather?" The sergeant said, chuckling afterwards, "You've said you've been through one aerial engagement today, I'm not risking my squad's safety on a flight through snow, fog and possibly razor hail. What's so important about this Locust anyway? What separates him from all the other shit-faces underground?"

O'Crem had a speech planned; he knew that question was going to crop up, either from these guys or Hoffman. Probably from both.

"I saw him fight another Locust… a type I've never heard about, dreadlocks, chainsaw staff, capes, robes… He scared the shit into me more than any other Locust has. I think he's important, and this," O'Crem indicated to the Theron guard lying unconscious on the floor, still inside the body bag, "This one knows what I'm personally dying to know."

Sergeant Giggs looked from Prescott to Smith to Rendell and back at O'Crem. He reached for his rucksack and pulled out a flask of water and tossed it to O'Crem.

"Sounds like a shit day." He said giving him a wink.

The King Raven entered Ilima City a half hour later. The LZ was clear; it wasn't a helipad, more of a renovated asphalt pitch for some sport. The C.O.G had taken over large and key locations in cities to act as their base for local operations such as evacuating and extracting troops or civilians. This court was small and deserted. The pilot 'Air Time' looked around confused. As he turned his head O'Crem noticed a tattoo saying 'Air Time' in italics across his neck, indicating why people called him Air Time.

"It's empty… But it was packed two days ago on my last run…"

The Sergeant nodded as if it jogged his memory. Private Smith by the side of him hummed.

"He's right sir, it was like Tyro Station during rush hour, and now it's… a ghost town."

"Ilima's command centers move all the time, probably chose one with more shade, put us down AT." Giggs said still eyeing the empty court suspiciously.

Tango-One-Thirteen landed, dust kicked in the air and drifted back down when the rotor blades whined to a halt.

Suddenly a large gate in the middle of the fence wall surrounding the orange court swung open and roughly ten men marched towards them. At first O'Crem thought they were C.O.G personnel, but as the view cleared it turned out they were civilians, badly shaven, ragged clothes, carrying an array of blunt objects, baseball bats, wooden planks, lead pipes. Sergeant Giggs' jaw dropped slightly.

"What the fuck…" he whispered, "Prescott find out what they want, don't get too close."

Private Prescott nodded as he jumped off the KR walking towards the mob, hands raised.

"Woah woah, guys, guys. This is military property now, you can't just bust in here." He said calmly still walking towards the men. One of the civilians was in front of the others, he spoke first.

"You bastards promised us food… water… nine fucking days…"

"The other soldiers said they'd be a day tops," Another of the men began, "We waited with our families right here believing they'd return."

"But you fuckers." The first man to speak took over, taking a few strides towards Prescott, wooden plank in his hands. "You left us for dead. Those best be supplies in that chopper."

Instinctively, overhearing the argument, O'Crem zipped up the body bag covering the Theron Guard's body; he would pass it off as a dead comrade they were bringing back for burial.

However most of the men in the gang heard the zipping up of the bag. Whether they thought it was a ploy to hide supplies from them or something else they wouldn't know. But Private Prescott seeing the mad glint and rage in the men's faces knew he was to close for comfort.

The man at the head of the gang raised his wooden plank, swung it back quickly to gather force preparing to clobber Prescott when a bullet from Private Smith's Longshot struck the centre of the man's skull, his head explode into blood, bone and brain. There was a second of eerie silence as Smith prepared a bullet for another load… he jammed the gun.

"Shit! Come on!" Smith shouted in frustration trying to fix his gun. The gang of men, now nine of them charged.

"Prescott run!" Giggs shouted trying to find his weapon to provide covering fire. All the other soldiers had stashed their weapons in a compartment at the back of the KR, confident they wouldn't need them save for Smith. With the marksman's weapon temporarily out of order, they were screwed.

Prescott ran but some of the men out paced him, one of them tackled him to the ground, screaming as he fell to the floor another man kicked his ribs. A third man brought his baseball bat hard down on his head. Prescott remained still. Air Time had already started the KR's rotors, and the blades struggled to spin at enough speed to lift the aircraft off the ground. The six men who didn't stop to deal with Prescott reached the KR. They tried to dive into the troop bay. Giggs lashed out at one of them with his boot kicking a man square in the face, the crack of the nose splitting under force was sickening and the victim fell off on top of another two attackers. Smith used his Longshot as a club trying to bat away the others who used their own weapons against him. O'Crem and Rendell were quickly trying to open the weapons case at the back of the KR. The case lid opened and as O'Crem's hand brushed against his Lancer Tango-One-Thirteen lifted off the ground but lurched to the left. O'Crem and Rendell were forced off the KR onto the ground, trying to push themselves away with their feet as the KR moved alarmingly fast towards them.

Air Time was panicking, all the training drills of a Stranded rush on his KR left his mind, and he toyed with the controls to see if he could right the helicopter and spin the attackers off. He didn't know two of his comrades were in danger of being crushed by his actions. As the medic and soldier pinned themselves against the chain fence the propeller blades tilted in their direction came closer to their position. All of a sudden one of the mad men jumped on his window and elbowed the glass. The window shattered. Air Time put his hands to his face to protect himself, and the KR lurched to the right, away from the two in peril.

"This bird is ours!" The demented attacker screamed as he wriggled his way into the cockpit hands round Air Time's throat.

Giggs and Smith were getting tired. Now eight men against the two they both individually thought abandoning the aircraft was a sound strategy.

"Air Time! We're getting off this thing! Let them have it!" Giggs said as he backpedaled further into the troop bay, only noticing that O'Crem and Rendell were not onboard. Instinctively thinking about the mission he saw the body bag and rolled it out the KR. O'Crem, who caught his breath back ran to the packaged Locust and dragged it back towards Rendell.

"Air Time!" Giggs shouted desperately looking into the cockpit. The pilot's head was limp in the hands of his strangler. Air Time was dead. Giggs felt the KR tilt over. He grabbed Smith by the collar of his COG armor and tossed himself and the private off the KR. They hit the floor rolled and came out sprinting. The mob had not noticed their escape but tried to scurry away from the helicopter as it fell on top of them. The propellers grinding against the asphalt and finally exploded. Screams and groans of the men under the weight of the wreckage filled the air and the sound of the motors ceased. The KR then proceeded to explode. A fireball flew into the white sky. All of the men in the mob were dead or burning. The four COGs did not wait for the aftermath, Giggs found another gate, kicked it ajar and ushered his team and O'Crem, who carried the body bag with Rendell out of the court.

"But… did Air Time…"

"No Smith he didn't!" Giggs snapped as they ran down the street. "We need to find a truck or a jeep, anything to get us out of here before more Stranded show up."

"Sir? We have no map or weapons besides his Longshot…" Rendell stated, beginning to pant as a result of jogging and carrying his own body weight in the form of a Locust in a black bag.

"Then I suggest we march double-time to find a vehicle, or find a tourist kiosk and teach Smith here how to reload." Giggs said now feeling the pain in his stomach from jogging. He slowed to a walk, wincing in pain, the others slowed for him. Sergeant Giggs put his hands on his knees…

"Kid," He looked at O'Crem, "Welcome to Gamma squad… don't get to comfortable… with your good luck I don't expect the next time we fly out they'll be a Gamma squad… All the god damn KRs crash when you're involved…"


End file.
